


Dance With Another

by Elizabeth Culmer (edenfalling)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Bars and Pubs, Clubbing, Dancing, Dirty Talk, F/M, First Meetings, Generation Gap, M/M, Multi, Prompt Fic, Seduction, Sibling Incest, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Culmer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave and Rose cooperatively seduce older people for no-strings threesomes. Mr. Egbert has no idea what's about to hit him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance With Another

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to the following [kinkmeme prompt](http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/39716.html?thread=44281124#cmt44281124): _Rose and Dave use their twin powers for evil, by which I mean they go clubbing and cooperatively seduce older men, by which I mean they take Dad home and ride him. Bonus points for unfairly hot dancing and a really confused and turned-on Dad._
> 
> _(I would like for Dad to be significantly older than Dave and Rose, but I would also like for them to be legal, so maybe 50-ish and early twenties? Filler do what you want, idk)_
> 
> I didn't get to the actual sex, but I did get the dancing, the seduction, and some dirty talk, and it's always possible I'll manage a part two to show what happens once Dave and Rose get Mr. Egbert into their apartment. In the meantime, please enjoy!

They don't go hunting every week, but variety is the spice of life and besides, Rose just found out she's getting a short story published in _F &SF_, which obviously calls for celebration. So they hit their favorite watering hole, just two stops down the subway line. It's a dance place, aimed toward sex and display, but it's close enough to the financial district that some older people stop by after work for a drink. The sound baffles are pretty good and the bar is well stocked, so you won't go deaf just trying to sip a cocktail.

They go early, before the glitter crowd shows up en masse but after the DJ's already set up and started the music. Dave listens with vague professional disapproval -- the guy's too chatty, the changes between songs too jarring -- but what the hell, a beat's a beat and he and Rose can dance to anything. They grind together near the edge of the dance floor, Rose's breasts squashed against his ribs, his hands pressing the thin fabric of her skirt tight to her ass. He's half hard just from touching her, breathing the mix of sweat and perfume that rises from her skin, and he knows she's just as ready even if she'd smack him for dipping his fingers into her panties to check.

Dave loves showing his sister off, loves going home with her alone, but these nights -- pulling someone in, waking a spark in someone who thought they were long past wild and crazy, going home to learn a new body, a new set of yes and no and _oh fuck do that again_ \-- these nights are like fire racing up and down his spine, every second etched in his memory like diamond carving into steel.

He wonders who Rose will pick. It's her choice, always, and she lives to surprise him. She wouldn't even give him a hint when he asked what he should wear, even when he took the nail polish out of her hands and did her fingers up special, little galaxies of light on a deep purple sky, the way she can never manage on her own. (His own nails are black, with the cuticles little crescents of fuck-me red, just because.)

Maybe now she'll tell him what she's thinking. Dave leans down, presses his mouth to her ear. "Hey, Rose. Hey. We looking for dick or pussy tonight?"

She smiles, plum-colored lips curving up in a wicked bow. "Dick, brother dearest. And I think I've found him already."

Dave blinks. That was fast. Usually they get more time to dance, maybe even a break for a drink or a quickie in the restroom before Rose settles on a target. Not that he's complaining. He likes a good appetizer as much as the next guy, but why not skip right to the beef?

"Point him out?" he asks.

"That one, sitting at the bar, with the navy tie," Rose says into Dave's ear, leaning close to be heard over the music. Her breath is hot against his skin; she kisses his cheek as Dave turns to look at his sister's choice.

White dude, short hair, business casual slacks and shirt, nice broad shoulders, middling weight, prominent nose. A hat sits tidily on the bar beside him.

Dave turns back and nibbles Rose's earlobe to get her attention. "What the fuck, Rose, he looks like the incarnation of boring office jobs, all yes-sir, no-sir, nine to five soul-killing spreadsheet data entry bullshit. Also, fedora. Ninety-percent chance he's a douche and flips out when he realizes we're a package deal."

"Oh ye of little faith," Rose says. "He's old enough to wear that hat style for other reasons, and I have a good feeling. Trust me."

And he does, he always does, even when he knows better, so Dave swings her off her feet for a good-luck spin before she wraps her right arm around his waist, he drapes his left arm over her shoulder, and they stalk across the dance floor, past the sound baffles hanging from the ceiling, and up to the bar where their unsuspecting prey sits with a half-full tumbler of whiskey and melting ice and an aura of 'what is this den of iniquity and how did I end up here?' seeping from his pores.

He's definitely old enough to be their dad, got laugh lines worn deep around his eyes and mouth and more salt than pepper in his hair. He's not hiding his age, either, not like some of the desperate assholes who come to bars and clubs clinging to lost youth with their fingertips. Rose doesn't usually pick that type, even if Dave thinks they're hilarious. She doesn't like men who see her as their conquest instead of understanding that she's claiming _them_.

They lean up against the bar beside Mister Navy Tie: Rose closer, Dave pressed up against her back with his left arm on the bar and his right low around her waist, fingers splayed over bare skin between the little pieces of nothing she likes to pretend are a shirt and a skirt. (Which is not to say that Dave's own shirt lives up to its name either, being purposefully more holes than fabric, but at least it actually tucks into his skintight jeans.)

"Hello," Rose says, sliding her hand forward until she's almost touching Mister Navy Tie's poor neglected whiskey. "Dave and I haven't seen you around here before, and you don't seem to be enjoying yourself much. Would you like some company?"

Mister Navy Tie blinks like he can't quite believe she's talking to him. His eyes drop from Rose's face to her barely covered boobs, then jerk back up like cats going warp speed out of hell away from a hot stove. "Hello, miss," he says. "And you as well, sir. Tonight is my first time in this establishment, and I admit I could do with a bit of company, if you wouldn't mind." His voice is baritone, calm and clear, and after that one slip he keeps his attention above Rose's neck like it's no effort at all.

Would you look at that: a gentleman. Hopefully not _too_ old-fashioned, but if Rose picked him, chances are polite doesn't equal boring.

"Wouldn't have made the offer if we minded," Dave says. "Dave Strider and Rose Lalonde. Pleased to meet you--" He leaves the sentence hanging, waits for Mister Navy Tie to fill in the blank.

"Oh, my apologies. Paul. Paul Egbert," Mister Navy Tie says. His hand drifts fractionally toward his head, as if he wants to tip the hat he isn't wearing. His fingers are square and blunt, nails neatly trimmed; there's an ink stain on his thumb. Dave wants to see if he can lick it off. He wants to know if the faint scents of Cavendish and cherry tobacco have left traces on Egbert's skin and in his mouth.

"Excellent. I think we'll be friends in no time," Rose says, and nudges Dave to sit on a barstool so she can sit on him. Egbert seems taken aback -- maybe surprised at their different surnames when they look nearly identical save gender and height, maybe just shocked at how Rose grinds her ass into Dave's dick as she adjusts her balance. He covers it with a drink of his whiskey, though, doesn't say a word.

Definitely a gentleman. Dave wonders how far those manners extend into the bedroom.

Rose summons the bartender and orders a modified screwdriver, with apple juice as well as orange. "Just one -- we'll share it," she says with a crooked smile.

"By 'share' she means she'll drink everything but the pulp and the ice, which she leaves for me," Dave tells Egbert.

"I adulterate my alcohol with apple juice for you and this is the thanks I get? Ingrate." Rose snags the glass off the bar and takes a dignified sip.

Dave hands the bartender a ten and waves off any attempt at change. "All part of my charm. But anyway, what brings you out on the wild side? No offense, man, but this doesn't seem like your usual scene."

Egbert laughs, and damn if it doesn't look good on him. Dave digs his fingers into Rose's waist; she squeezes his hand in return.

"I haven't been to a bar -- let alone a dance club -- in, oh, nearly as long as you two have been alive, I daresay," Egbert says. He raises his whiskey, twists the tumbler back and forth to catch the flashing lights off the dance floor. "But my son thinks I'm, what did he say, _moldering_ now that he's graduated from college and moved out of the house, so I promised him I would have a drink in public rather than in my study. And here I am."

"It's good to live a little," Rose agrees. She leans forward, clinks her glass against his.

"I'll drink to that," Egbert says, and suits actions to words. When he sets the whiskey down, he continues: "This isn't, as you so aptly put it, 'my scene,' but I quite like seeing other people enjoying themselves. Dancing is always a worthwhile pastime."

"I'll drink to _that_ ," Dave says, and plucks the screwdriver out of Rose's hand. He waves it in Egbert's general direction, then knocks back a swallow before Rose can reclaim the glass.

Egbert matches him, then looks at the dregs of his whiskey and laughs. "There are two of you and one of me, and this is my second drink of the evening. I see you have a nefarious plan to get me thoroughly inebriated, though I can't think why you'd bother. I assure you I don't have enough cash on hand to be worth stealing, and I'm not a pretty young thing to tempt home for the night."

Rose twists, glances up and back at Dave. He nods. Might as well stop beating around the bush, see if Egbert's willing or if they'll be going home alone tonight.

Rose catches Egbert's eyes and sets the screwdriver down on the bar with deliberate finality. "It's not a nefarious plan if you're onto us, is it? And besides, we'd prefer you less than totally drunk when we take you home. Whiskey dick is nobody's friend."

Egbert chokes on his drink.

Rose rescues his tumbler. Dave hands him a napkin. They wait for him to regain his breath.

"I beg your pardon?" he says eventually.

"You have that sexy silver fox thing going on and we like threesomes, so we want to take you home and do the horizontal tango -- make the beast with two backs... or three, in this case," Dave says, seeing Rose's bluntness and upping the stakes.

"But first, perhaps, a dance?" Rose says, softening the blow and giving Egbert a chance to back out gracefully without turning them down flat. Of course, by the time they're done with the dance he ought to be putty in their hands, but nobody said fair warning had to include _all_ the details.

"A dance," Egbert repeats. "I-- well-- if you really think--"

"We really do," Dave says, and eases Rose to her feet. "Song's about to change. Let's hit the floor and you can dazzle us with your super-classy moves." Rose takes Egbert's hands and pulls him from the bar. Dave snags the man's fedora and claps it on his head, removing any convenient excuse to remain.

They reel him onto the dance floor with the ease of long practice. Rose wraps herself around him as the DJ jerks the music over into a heavy, pounding groove. Dave wraps himself around his sister, pressed so tight against her back and ass that air molecules suffocate and die trying to squeak between them, slides his hands forward until he's finger-walking over Egbert's shirt toward the man's ass, just like Rose has her hands up and caressing his shoulders, his collarbone, the nape of his neck. They sway with the beat, let the bass shudder through their bones, raise them up, shake them open, create them both anew.

Egbert is stiff, unmoving. "I-- um-- that is--" he tries to say -- or at least Dave thinks he's mumbling incoherent protests. His lip-reading skills aren't the best and Egbert's too much the gentleman to shout over the music.

"Relax, Paul. It's just a dance. Everyone should dance more often; it's one of the things that makes us human," Rose says. Dave can feel her voice vibrate in her throat, where he has his head bent to kiss and bite the side of her neck, up against the hard curve of her jaw.

"My wife used to say--" Egbert says. He stops.

"You used to dance with her, didn't you?" Rose says. She cups her hands around Egbert's jaw, tips his head to meet his eyes.

"A long, long time ago."

"Then dance for her," Rose says. "Don't molder away in memories. You're alive -- so live."

Slowly, Egbert raises his hands to Rose's waist, insinuates them between her and Dave, where he can't help feeling both of them. He catches their rhythm -- first his fingers twitch, then his shoulders ease, then his knees relax, then his hips begin to move. And he is with them, three bodies locked together in service to the beat, mimicking another, older dance.

"We want to take you home, Paul," Rose says.

"Our place, not yours -- somewhere new," Dave adds.

Rose picks up the thread: "We want to hold you all the way up the elevator, kiss you all the way down the hall."

"Fall down with you onto our bed, throw your clothes across the room."

"Trace all over your body, hands and tongues and anything you want. I want to lick your hands, see if you taste as good as you smell."

Egbert's eyes are blown. He's trembling faintly under Dave's hands. He knows Rose can feel it too. He wonders if Egbert is hard, if he's grinding up against Rose from the front like Dave is from behind. He wonders what it would feel like if he were in the middle.

"We want to push you down," Rose says.

Dave catches Egbert's eyes. "We want to ride you," he challenges, waits for the flinch... which doesn't come. Score.

Rose lifts one foot, hooks it backwards around Dave's calf and squeezes: this is it, they're almost in. "Keep you hard, won't let you come," she says.

"Not until she's come and I've come and she's come again," Dave finishes.

"And then we'll kiss you and clean you and hold you as long as you want. You can stay the night or go straight home; we don't mind. Whatever you want," Rose promises. "Come with us, Paul. It's just another dance. Take tonight and live."

The music stops, DJ blathering on about who-even-gives-a-fuck. Egbert is still in their arms. He licks his lips, glances from Rose to Dave and back, then repeats the cycle. Dave holds his breath; he can feel Rose holding hers, back stiff as steel against his chest.

Egbert pulls his hands out from their warm refuge between Dave and Rose, reaches up to adjust his hat and tie. Dave lets out his breath. Shit. He was really getting into the dude, too.

But then Egbert sets one hand on Rose's shoulder, the other on Dave's upper arm right where the mesh of his shirt gives way to naked skin. He takes a deep breath, and says, "I think I may have gone certifiably insane, but if you promise this isn't a prank--"

"It isn't," Rose says.

"--then yes. To everything."

"You won't be sorry," Dave says. He grabs the hand on his arm and slings it over his shoulders, knowing that Rose is doing the same on Egbert's other side. They press tight to his sides, link their arms behind his back. Rose stands on tiptoe to press a kiss to Egbert's cheek; Dave leans in to do the same. Egbert's skin is soft, the scent of his aftershave still faintly lingering; he must have cleaned up after work, before he came to the bar.

The DJ stops talking, brings up a faster, lighter beat with a weird droning synth overlay. Dave catches Rose's eye, makes a face. Time to get out of here, before Egbert has second thoughts.

"Did you leave a coat at the door?" Rose asks. Egbert shakes his head. She smiles. "Good. Then let's go home. We have so many things to do."

They stride off the dance floor and toward the exit, carrying Egbert with them into the summer night.


End file.
